


Missing Pieces

by DizzyDrea



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Romance, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Trope Bingo Round 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 07:05:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1460314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyDrea/pseuds/DizzyDrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most people fell into each other in the moment of bonding; Phil and Melinda had pulled apart, and while the bond was permanent no matter whether they accepted it or not, they had chosen this path knowing that they would forever feel as though a piece of themselves was missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missing Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> After this week's episode, Muse was understandably freaking out. Mostly because the ideas were coming fast and furious and she couldn't decide where to start. I reminded her that we have that Trope Bingo card to fill. That's when she sank her claws into this idea and wouldn't let go until I'd written it.
> 
> For the _soulmates/soul bond_ square on my Trope Bingo card.
> 
> Spoilers for 1.17, _Turn, Turn, Turn_ (obviously)
> 
> Disclaimer: Marvel's Agents of SHIELD and all its particulars are the property of Marvel Studios, Walt Disney Studios, Joss Whedon, and a lot of other people who aren’t me. I am doing this for fun and for practice. Mostly for fun.

~o~

Melinda May moved through the Bus with a singularity of purpose, absently cataloging the scars on her plane as she went. She'd spent the better part of the day—the part not running from men _in SHIELD uniforms_ with guns pointed at her—helping Fitz and what was left of the personnel at the Hub to patch the holes and make sure she was airworthy again. 

Melinda had full faith and confidence in her ability to fly through just about anything, but it would be a long time before she felt sure that the Bus wouldn't fall out of the sky given the slightest push.

But that wasn't her main concern right now, as much as she was still worried about just how much more the plane could take. Even with all the activity of the day, her thoughts had centered on just one person: Phil Coulson. She hated the rift that had blown wide open between them, the mistrust and open suspicion on his face as he'd held her at gunpoint.

The Phil Coulson she'd known would never have done that, but even she knew that the man with the gun was a shadow of the man she'd known. It pained her to see it, but what hurt more than her sore ribs and the gunshot wound in her arm was the idea that Phil thought he couldn't trust her. After everything they'd been through—everything they were to each other—there had always been trust, and she'd never believed they'd find the breaking point of that trust.

Until today.

Now, as she climbed the stairs to the upper deck of the plane, she knew she had to face the consequences of what she'd done. Her boots felt like they'd been weighted down with lead as she trudged upwards towards Phil's office, but maybe that was the heaviness in her heart and not some design flaw in her uniform. Whatever it was, it made each step more difficult than the last, until she thought maybe she wouldn't be able to reach the top.

When she finally did, she stopped for a moment, wiping the sweat and grime from her brow as she tried to pull herself together. The confrontation wasn't going to be pretty, but she knew they needed to have it out now, rather than wait and let this thing fester. He needed to know that she'd never betrayed him, and there was only one way she knew of to do that.

Taking one last fortifying breath, she reached out and turned the knob on his office door, only mildly surprised when it gave beneath her hand. She'd expected to need to pick it, but that didn't mean she'd be welcome on the other side. Still, she pushed it open and stepped through.

It was dark, just one small light in the corner near the couch that had somehow miraculously survived the barrage of bullets their own people had sprayed the plane with. Still, she could make out Phil's shape, slumped behind his desk, head in hands, lost in some private pain.

They were both in bad shape, but it didn’t have to stay that way.

"You shouldn't be up here, May."

Well, that answered the question of whether or not he knew who had disturbed him.

She moved further inside, letting the door fall closed behind her. "It's not like you to hide out when the going gets tough."

He chuckled, but it was entirely without humor. "Yeah, well, it's been a helluva day. My oldest friend is dead, the organization I've dedicated the last fifteen years of my life to is in shambles, and the one person I thought I could trust when everything else went to shit betrayed me. So, you'll forgive me if I just need a minute. I repeat: you shouldn't be here."

"So that's it?" she asked, a little more sharply than she'd intended, but to hell with being nice about this. "You're just going to fold up? Let them win?"

"Dammit, Melinda!" he shouted, jumping up out of his chair. "It's not enough that my friends turned me into a lab experiment, practically tortured me and then hid the truth from me? For a whole fucking year! It's not enough that everything I believed to be the truth has turned out to be a lie? It's not enough that I have no idea if I'm even the same person after all the fucking around that Streiten and his cronies did? It's not enough that I watched good people die today from a threat I didn't see coming, but probably would have if I'd been even a fraction of the man I used to be?" Just as quickly as his temper rose, it washed out of him, leaving him heaving and pale in the flickering light. He leaned forward, resting his hands on the desk, head hung between his shoulders. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to stop walking away from me," she said.

"You walked first," he said, rising up to face her. "In Bahrain. You walked away from me, from the field, from everything. So you don't get to say that."

"Like you walked away from me in Santiago?" she shot back. He flinched, and for a second she regretted her words. He'd walked away because it was the only thing he could do, and she'd known that even if she hadn't understood it then.

"Touché," he said, shaking his head. Silence hung in the air as they watched each other for the space of a few heartbeats. Finally, he dropped his chin to his chest and spoke so quietly she almost missed the words. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to listen to me," she said, equally as quietly. She took another step, bringing her closer to the desk so she didn't have to raise her voice to be heard. Somehow, she knew the fragility of the moment would be shattered if she raised her voice. "I need you to trust me, Coulson. I'm not your enemy."

"You could have fooled me," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

He'd shed his jacket at some point during the day, loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. He looked tired, defeated, as if some essential part of him had been lost that day and he didn't know how to get it back. It broke her heart to know that she was responsible for some of that. She would do almost anything to take it all back, but now all she could do was help to set some of it to rights again.

"You didn't touch me," she said into the ensuing silence. "Not when you were treating my cuts, not when you extracted the bullet. You took great pains to avoid skin-on-skin contact while you were bandaging my arm. Do you not want to know?"

He frowned, but otherwise gave no outward sign that her words held any meaning, so she pressed on, circling around the desk to stand next to him. He followed her with his eyes, turning to face her still with his arms crossed and the hostile fire in his eyes that was obvious now that she was close enough to see.

"You said it wouldn't change anything," she said quietly. "You said when we bonded that we'd just go on as we did before, that nothing had to change, but it has. When did I become the person you trust the least, when I used to be the person you trusted the most?"

"Melinda—"

"Touch me, Phil," she practically begged. "Touch me. _Feel_ the truth."

She stood there, waiting, watching as he argued with himself over what to do. Theirs had never been an easy bond, no matter what the rumors said. It had happened in the field, on a mission in Santiago that had turned into a shitstorm, when he offered her his hand to pull her to safety. They'd stood staring at each other for long moments as the fight raged on around them, completely oblivious to their surroundings. 

When they'd finally come back to themselves, he'd told her that the bond changed nothing, that it couldn't change anything. She'd accepted that because she'd had no choice, and because fighting for it scared her even more than the bond did. 

Over the years, they'd both steadfastly ignored it, knowing even as they did so that they were denying themselves something rare and precious. Most people fell into each other in the moment of bonding; Phil and Melinda had pulled apart, and while the bond was permanent no matter whether they accepted it or not, they had chosen this path knowing that they would forever feel as though a piece of themselves was missing.

Now, Melinda was reaching out for that missing piece, hoping like hell that Phil was willing to meet her halfway.

She watched as he slowly unclenched his jaw, hurt and mistrust still swirling in his eyes. He dropped his arms, clenching and unclenching his fists a few times before he raised one shaking hand to reach for her. He paused, hand hanging in the air between them, but she knew better than to bridge the distance. This had to be his choice, or it would mean nothing.

His eyes searched hers until finally, _finally_ , he reached the rest of the way, his fingers ghosting over her cheek as his palm settled, cupping her tenderly. Her eyes slid closed as she let his emotions wash over her: pain, confusion, betrayal, sadness. Her eyes flew open when she felt the last one, clear and distinct from the rest: hope. It was faint and fragile, but there just the same, and it buoyed her heart to know that he still believed, despite all the tragedy they'd just endured.

But as much as she wanted to bask in that flicker of hope, she'd asked for this for a reason. She had to focus, to give him what he needed, to make this right, or else she knew this would be the end of them, as friends, as allies, as whatever else they might be.

She closed her eyes and brought forth the memories, no matter how much pain they caused her.

_Fury standing in his office, pinning her to the carpet with his one good eye… "I'm ordering you to do this, and I don't care what you are to each other!"…_

_Her own guilt and betrayal as she watched the technician installing the dedicated line…_

_How she'd had to run to the head, dropping to her knees and losing the contents of her stomach the first time she'd had to call in a report…_

_Watching as Phil tried to understand what had been done to him, knowing that one touch of his hand and he'd know the truth… hating herself for keeping the secret… hating Fury for knowing that she could because they never touched…_

_Loving him with all her heart, and knowing that Fury's orders had killed any chance she might have had at a future with Phil when it was all over…_

The intensity of the Sharing was almost overwhelming, driving them both to their knees. It was one of the reasons that doctors encouraged soulmates to touch often; even a separation of a few days could overwhelm the couple when they touched and transferred all their thoughts and feelings. Melinda had to fight to keep this a one-way street, trying to keep from seeing what Phil was thinking and feeling so that she could focus on her own memories and trying to reassure him that she wasn't the enemy.

"I never thought you were the enemy," he whispered.

At some point during the Sharing, his other hand had come up, cradling her face in both of his. They were both breathing harshly, as if they'd just run a marathon. Melinda desperately needed something to ground her, to keep her from flying apart. She reached up and wrapped her fingers around his wrists, stroking her thumbs over the backs of his hands in an echo of the way his thumbs were stroking her cheeks.

They sat there like that for long minutes, just staring into each other's eyes. The intensity of the Sharing had faded, and now the bond pulsed between them, a gentle wash of feelings ebbing and flowing like the tide. 

Phil pulled her closer, sliding one arm down to wrap around her waist as he ran the other behind her neck, keeping their skin in contact as he tucked her into his body. Melinda couldn't help the sob that escaped, and hated herself for the weakness. She'd survived tortures far worse than this without breaking. She could manage being held by Phil Coulson.

"I've never had my hugs referred to as torture before," he rumbled into her ear.

"Oh god," she said, pressing her face into his neck. "That's not what I meant."

He chuckled. "I got that." A pause, then he went on. "I know it's not something we do, but maybe it's something we should start doing."

She pulled back, just enough to get a good look at his face. His eyes were clear, and he was wearing that small, genuine smile she'd seen from time to time. He looked better than she'd seen him look in far too long, and it did her heart a world of good to see it.

"You're sure?" she asked, not because she wanted to, but because after everything they'd been through that day, she needed to.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

She paused, unwilling to break the moment but knowing they really didn't have the time to waste.

"Now what?"

"Now, we pick up the pieces and start trying to figure out if there's anything of SHIELD left to salvage," he said, ever the practical one. "And we track down as much of Hydra's senior leadership as we can. Hopefully we can get enough of them together at one time to make it worth our while."

"You really think this plan is going to work?"

She'd had her doubts, when they'd talked about it earlier. She trusted Phil completely, but as had just been amply demonstrated, right now it was hard to know who else to trust. Still, they were out of options, and if this was the best they could do, they'd go with it. 

"It's all we've got," he said, neatly echoing her thoughts. "But I have faith in our people. We've pulled it out against worse odds in the past. Who's to say we can't do it again?"

"You're being awfully optimistic," she said, ghosting a smile. 

"I refuse to believe we can't fix this," he said, turning serious once more. "Too many good people died trying to protect something we all believe in. I don't intend for those sacrifices to be in vain."

Melinda nodded, but didn't say anything. Truth was there wasn't much to say. They'd either succeed or fail, and much of the burden of their success or failure was in the hands of others. It was an uncomfortable place to be in for someone used to fighting her own battles, but she'd get her chance soon enough.

"Come on," Phil said, bringing her back to the here and now. "My knees are killing me."

He pushed himself back to his feet, taking her hand to pull her up beside him. When they were both standing, he didn't let go, keeping the contact for as long as he could.

"I meant what I said," he told her, brushing her cheek with his hand as he cupped the back of her head, tipping it forward to press a kiss to her forehead. When he pulled back, he met her eyes easily, warmth and affection swirling intoxicatingly through her. "This isn’t the best time to start this, but I'm not going to walk away. This time, we do what we should have before: we move forward together. Okay?"

Her smile felt a bit watery, and despite the fact that his words weren't overly romantic, Melinda felt them lodge deep in her soul, in that place where Phil belonged. 

She nodded her head. "Okay."

~Finis


End file.
